The Patient
by FireHeart Alchemist
Summary: AU: Jake Sully never managed to save Pandora. These are the consequences. T for later.
1. The Patient

_Hello all! I realize I should be working on other fics, but tough, this was a little bit of inspiration, and I'm going with it!_

___About the story:_ This is not a one-shot, it just seemed like a good place to stop. It's an AU, in which Jake and Co. don't succeed in saving Pandora. I do not own Avatar, because I am nowhere near awesome enough to even pretend owning it. Enjoy!

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It had come to the point where it was pointless to even _try_ to talk to him. Whether this was reluctance on his part, a last attempt at defiance, or simply the result of being pulled out of a link too many times, Dr. Saldana didn't know. All she did know was that all of the other doctors had given up, and the patient's time was running out.

The patient had acted as a replacement for his twin on an extra-planetary mission, thus enrolling in the AVTR program. Colonel Quartich reported that he had recruited the patient to do a reconnaissance mission to gain knowledge of the indigenous' land in order to be able to negotiate a peaceful relocation.

This, Zoe thought, was were things started to make less sense. According to Quartich, the patient befriended the indigenous, to the point where he began attacking his fellow humans while in his avatar. This was most peculiar. Why would an ex-Marine do such a thing? Did the natives successfully brainwash him, or was there more to the story than Quartich was admitting? After all, it was not only the patient that began to turn on the RDA. Doctors Augustine, Spellman and Patel had also 'turned traitor', along with pilot Chacón, another ex-Marine. This was a fruitless search. The patient was the only rebel left among them; Dr. Augustine had been killed during an escape attempt, Dr. Spellman had committed suicide soon after his trial, Dr. Patel had been "deported" (read executed), and Chacón's tribunal had agreed upon a firing squad. This left only Corporal Sully.

In an uncharacteristic act of mercy (or as Zoe viewed it, a thinly veiled form of torture) Quartich had asked the tribunal to spare the patient's life. He claimed that if the Doctors could find the reason behind this treachery, it could help prevent another such attempt in the future. And so the patient was wheeled away, broken and ashen faced, stuck in a tiny white prison, not saying a single word.

And now they had all given up, except for Dr. Saldana. Something about the patient, no. Something about _Jake_ intrigued her, and she had no idea what. From his four-year silence to his atrophied legs to the haunted look in his eyes. He had seen something, and Zoe wanted to know what that was.


	2. The Files

_Because the Inspiration Fairy seems to be coming for tea more frequently than she used to, here's a second chapter. Thanks to all of you who fave'd and reviewed, and even those who didn't._

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First, Dr. Zoe Saldana decided to scrap all of the notes the other doctors had made; they were obviously inconclusive, and therefore of no use. Second, she asked the U.S. government for the pat- _Jake's_ files. _All_ of it. The initial psych evaluations, his performance records, his reports, his log journals from the AVTR program, everything. Hell, she even asked for all of the Pandoran bases' footage they had of Jake. Quaritch (Zoe was starting to believe that this man had something to do with all of this) had decided to indulge her, grey eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Here you go, sweetheart. Just don't let his pretty face fool you; Corporal Sully was responsible for the deaths of several of my men, cripple or not." With a mocking salute, the Colonel left. And so Dr. Saldana began trying to piece together the puzzle that was Patient 28539: Corporal Jake Sully.

At first, nothing seemed amiss: he grew up in an average home with his parents and twin brother, passed high school, joined the Marines. Life was swell. His parents died at a happy old age of 80 and 85, and Jake was receiving great praise in his unit for his ability to obey orders, think quickly on his feet, and for his incredible initiative. A promotion was proposed after a tour or two. He did a few tours in Venezuela, but the initial report didn't turn up anything suspicious. It wasn't until the report on the second tour that Jake's life was blown to bits:

"_Encountered enemy fire, sustained damage to equipment and company. Corp. Sully and Corp. Miles severely injured, airlifted back to base."_

It was then that the medical reports started flooding in:

_"Patient suffered gunshot wounds to the lower back and abdominal region. Internal bleeding, fixed during operation. Minimal damage to intestinal system, fixed. Shattered vertebrae: Lumbar 3 and 4, cracked Lumbar 5. Damage to spinal cord confirmed: patient will have to be confined to a wheelchair. Estimated time of recovery: one year, damage to spinal cord permanent without further treatment."_

Dr. Saldana knew what that meant. Jake could get his legs back, but he'd have to pay through the nose first. According to his finances, however, there was nothing to be gotten from his nose in the first place, no money at all.

_This must be it,_ she decided. _I'm sure there's something here that will tip me off, some sign of trauma that the others missed._ Jake underwent extensive physiotherapy, putting all of himself into his recovery. Instead of the year-long recovery period the doctors thought it would be, Jake was able to hold his own after six months.

He showed no apparent signs of anger, and only medium frustration when doctors tried to impose limits on Jake's ability, but all of this was understandable. Why would a Marine, one of the toughest types of people out there, tolerate people telling him what he can and cannot do? Zoe took note of this before she moved on.

It didn't take long for tragedy to strike again. Just a week before Jake's brother, Dr. Thomas Sully was supposed to depart for Pandora, he was mugged. Some people had come upon him while he was walking home from a day at the labs, beat him into submission, stole his wallet, and shot him in the gut, leaving him to die alone in some God forsaken alley.

Jake didn't even have time to properly mourn his brother. Even as his twin was being cremated, the RDA approached him, offering him his brother's position in the AVTR program on Pandora. They offered him money (indeed, enough to get him _two_ new sets of legs) and a fresh start. The catch was, Jake had to leave immediately. He wasn't even able to see his brother properly buried before he was rushed off of the planet.

He would spend six years in cryo, drifting through space, before he arrived on the moon Pandora.

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_Short entry is short, but it helps me to keep moving it I do it in little chunks. Or at least, more likely to post. Hope you enjoy this iffy backstory, I promise the good doctor will speak to Jake soon._


	3. The Talk

_Man I'm on a roll! Two posts in one day! Oh, and I've got my hands on a copy of the movie script, so I'm likely going to put in some scenes that weren't in the movie, but in the script. Because I'm just that cool._"Hey Zoe! Yoo-hoo!" An incredibly obnoxious voice draws the doctor out of sleep and (reluctantly) into the world of the waking. "Hey Zo, if you stay like that, you'll have whatever you were reading tattooed to your face!" Mumbling some obscenities, she lifted her head, rubbing her eyes tiredly.

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"Jesus girl! How long have you been at this?" Looking around, Zoe saw a diminutive blonde-haired man smiling wryly at her.

"Uh...since, I don't know, four?" A slender eyebrow raised, and the doctor conceded. "Alright! Since four in the morning yesterday." The man let out an impressed whistle.

"On that new assignment you took up? The one about the..." the man was hesitant to say the patient's name. It was like he was their new boogeyman, the tale you told kids so that they would behave, or else they could end up like Sully. Saldana glared at him.

"Yes Jim, I've been working on Jake's files. Get over it." She didn't know where this defensive attitude came from. It wasn't like she'd even gotten around to _talking_ to the guy, let alone getting to know him. Maybe she _should_ be getting more sleep, if she was getting this cranky. And a cup of coffee. _Mmmm...coffee..._ Seemingly out of nowhere, a mug of piping hot java was placed under her nose.

"Oh my sweet, beloved Jim! You're mind-reading powers continue to astound me." Jim rolled his eyes, playfully dismissing her praise as she took an appreciative sip from the mug.

"In all seriousness Zo," the man pulled up a chair, sitting on it backwards. "You've got to give it a rest. I mean, me and the others are starting to worry about you! We never see you anymore, and when we do, you've got your nose in one of..._his_ files!" Zoe glared darkly at him. "All I'm saying is, is that you need to put some distance between you and this project. You're getting way too personally involved..."

"Oh, and you would know _all_ about getting '_too involved_', now wouldn't you, Jim?" Zoe regretted those words as soon as she said it. It may have happened long ago, even though he tried to hide it, those words still stung as fresh as ever. "God Jim, I'm so sorry! I didn't think..."

"No, it's alright. It's none of my business." The man got up from his chair, politely putting it back under the office table, and left.

Zoe held her head tiredly in her hands. They just didn't get it, did they? This was important to her, and she _had_ to do it. It didn't matter what anyone said, what everyone thought, she was going to figure out Jake Sully, and she only had a month to do it.

That was the deal. Corp. Jake Sully was supposed to go before a tribunal yet again, the doctors having figured out what had happened to him on Pandora. Zoe had bartered to let her have one month with him so she could do a thorough psychoanalysis of him. If he was insane, they'd ship him off to a nice white room with padded walls to die in anonymity. If he _was_ sane, they'd kill him for his "crimes against humanity", or whatever bullshit they decided to accuse him of.

But if he wasn't in the wrong, if he was actually _right_ in doing what he did...

_Then what Zoe? You go and show those big bad Marines and the evil old RDA who's boss? You? A nobody psychiatrist only fresh out of university? Oh, I bet they're all quaking in their boots._

She had to try. She had to because – God damn it – if she didn't do it, who the hell else would?Something was going on, something the big boys didn't want anyone to know, and by God she was going to find out.

Cracking her stiff neck and letting out a yawn, Dr. Saldana thought it best to resume this _after_ a much needed nap on the couch.

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_I love you all, and I hope to get one review, or another 50 hits. Hey, a fan can dream, can't they?_


	4. Aside: The Walk

_Hello again! Thanks to all who review and even to those who don't. _

_So this chapter isn't really much my own, I must admit. I found an AVATAR script online, and this was a deleted scene. I've just decided to flesh it out a bit, because I found it insightful into Jake's character before he arrived on Pandora._

_Italics = Voice Overs from a log journal._

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The strong prey on the weak.

_I became a Marine for the hardship. To be hammered on the anvil of life. I told myself I could pass any test a man could pass._

It takes him ages to put his goddamned pants on. Hell, it takes him a fucking decade to pull his pants _off_. He has to rocking himself from side to side, over and over and over again, pulling on his pants the whole while. It's one of the many stupid little things he misses that makes him a little more bitter and sink a little deeper into his depression.

Once they are on, though, he manages to squeeze out of his sardine can of a room and out into the lovely, smoggy, miserable bitch of a world. It doesn't take long for him to wheel himself over to the magtrain station. He doesn't bother to look at the train schedule, or even the ticket prices. He's been down here so many times before, there's practically a seat with his name on it by now.

The magtrain stops and he wheels his way down to a bar. The same bar he's been visiting almost every night for the past few months. The patrons are always noisy, but they mind their own business.

He rolls into the bar, says hi to a few of the veterans he recognizes, and orders himself a few shots of "whatever the hell you feel like". He downs the first one watching the World Cup. Seeing all of those men running about with their perfectly functional legs leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, so he downs another shot for good measure. He starts doing tricks by the third one, balancing the shot glass on his forehead while doing a wheelie in his chair. This gets the other vets to clap and whoop, especially those missing a body part or two themselves.

_Let's get it straight upfront. I don't want your pity. The world's a cold-ass bitch._

He notices a man at the bar with a woman. He hits her. Hard. The poor woman cowers away from him, trying to get away, but he's got her by the arm. He shouts at her, raising his fist. People turn their heads away. They don't want to look. They don't want to _see_ what's happening. In some detached, analytical part of his brain, he can understand this. Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil. Right? Especially if that evil is more than likely going to whip your sorry ass into next Tuesday.

But he'll be damned if he looks away.

_You want a fair deal, you're on the wrong planet. The strong prey on the weak._

His knuckles turn white as he grips his wheels, jaw set as he rolls himself forward.

_It's just the way things are. And nobody does a damned thing._

The burly sonofabitch doesn't even bother to take notice of him as he comes to a halt beside the stool. He reaches down with one well defined arm and –

YANK! The stool is whipped from right under the bastard. The man falls to the ground. Hard. He doesn't even pause to take in the huge _thump_ the man makes as his head smashes to the ground before he, quite literally, throws himself onto the man. He grabs hold of the man like a pit bull and wails on him, simply beating the tar out of him with every inch of strength he has in him. The bar is in chaos now. People are yelling and pulling and shouting as the bouncer drags him out.

_All I ever wanted in my sorry-ass life was a single thing worth fighting for._

He is unceremoniously tossed onto the hard pavement. The force of it sends him sprawling on the pavement. He lay there dazed for a moment before his chair comes crashing after him, bouncing into a pile of garbage. He pulls himself up, scraped and bleeding and still looking for a fight.

"I hope you realize you've just lost a customer!" Seeing no one, he collapses onto his back. "Candy ass bitch." He mutters to himself. Whether he's referring to the dickhead in the bar, the bouncer or himself, he wasn't really sure. The magtrains roar above him and, just to top it all off, it starts to rain.

"If it ain't rainin' we ain't trainin'!" He shouts jauntily into the night. Too tired and in pain to move, he rests on his back, arms spread eagle as he lies amongst the trash. He supposes it would be kind of poetic, if he were into shit like that.

He doesn't know how long he's been lying there when he notices two people approach him. He pretends not to notice, but his mood plummets even further when he sees two shiny pairs of black shoot stop right beside him. Looking up, he sees two men dressed in identical black suits, completely unremarkable in any way (save for the fact that they _were_ so unremarkable) and vaguely threatening. Definitely government Suits.

"Are you Jake Sully?" one of them asks. He flips them the bird.

"Step off. You're ruining my good mood." Frustratingly enough, they neither seem bothered, offended or even unimpressed by his show. A cold snake begins to coil within his belly, and it sure as hell isn't from the rain.

"It's about your brother."

_The strong prey on the weak. A guy with a gun took all Tommy would ever be, for the paper in his wallet. _


End file.
